Rage incident at the Doug Fir

From the journal, 7 June 2008.

Doug Fir has the uncanny ability to terrify me with its opportune people-watching. Regardless of ridiculousness, anything seen on more than two people per evening will indeed become a [fashion] trend. Tonight it is fanny packs. No, sadly I am not joking. Thick, contoured belts with pouches. I've seen three, so it is upon us.

I am asymptotically reaching a freak-out point. I knew-- I f*ing knew-- that she'd be here. I've thought about the possibility for months. I thought I saw her in the [back bar] corner. That, and I'm coming off such a bliss full week. There is no yin but there's a yang; no shadow without light; no day but for night. [ed note: I didn't mean to make that rhyme]

Lest I lay it on too thick, I'm sitting here hating on a troupe of hippy girls. I thought that I had gotten over this particular prejudice & embraced the dirt, but there is... something... about these particular specimens-- which means that my rage at the east coast version is deep and justified.

time ponderance

I am lying on the couch, watching the leaves of the ninebark jitter in the wind in the golden light from the sun that's finally appeared at just about the last moment possible. If the sun's arc slowed to infinity, I could watch this dance forever. I can't tell if it's because I'm so tired that everything becomes hypnotizing, or if the movement of leaves is always a fascinating thing. I suspect the latter.

I tell myself I'll take time for this-- some day, I will. Time to watch the clouds take lingering leave of the West Hills, with arms outstretch in goodbye. Time to mete the westbound morning bridge traffic, to make sure that everyone makes it back to the eastside before sundown. Time to poke a stick and my camera into every hole from missing squares of purple sidewalk glass in all of Old Town.

I'll have time to finish thoughts and ponder the last dream I had. Time, even, to see every episode of Dr Who from its start til present day.